Tomorrow Means Nothing
by Three Faint Calls
Summary: When Emory Alderman leaves District 3 to work in the control room of the 74th Hunger Games, she finds herself with a marred conscious and an unsettling attraction to this year's Head Gamemaker. Seneca/OC, rating may change to M in the future.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I tried to write this first chapter so many times but I just kept getting distracted by gazing at photos of Seneca Crane and/or drawing his beard. Anyways, here is the first installment of this story, hope you all enjoy it (even though Seneca won't come in until next chapter, sorry)! Next one will be more interesting, I promise.

In case you were wondering, the title of the story is part of a lyric from the song "Deep Blue" by Arcade Fire. I just thought it fit well because that line on its own sort of sounds like it's describing a dystopian world like Panem and Arcade Fire were on the soundtrack to the film.

Tomorrow Means Nothing: Chapter One

Emory watched them as they walked about the room, stopping every so often to examine a halfway constructed apparatus or to question one of the workers. They were brisk and efficient, their practiced demeanor making it impossible to tell whether or not they were impressed by what they had seen or heard. The space was clean in comparison to the other buildings in District 3, but with the engineers present, with their glaring white coats and observant eyes, everything suddenly looked grimy and old. Emory herself felt rather untidy, and made what she hoped was a discreet effort to smooth down her rather unruly brown hair before they reached her.

The engineers were sent from the Capitol, on their annual mission to see if any of District 3's technologists were worthy of working on this year's Hunger Games. It was usually a futile journey; even if they did find someone deserving of the opportunity, it was hard to find someone willing to participate in the Games past watching them or yielding up one of their own children if they were so unlucky. The engineers never forced anyone to go with them, unlike Peacekeepers might have. They were there on what they might have self-righteously deemed a humanitarian mission, offering one resident a chance to live in their own apartment, earn a considerable salary, and be looked after like an actual Capitol citizen. The only catch was you then became an engineer for the Games and were responsible for creating the arena and controlling nearly every variable it contained. You became accountable for that massive graveyard. It wasn't surprising that they had a difficult time finding anyone willing to take them up on the offer.

But, Emory thought, it was probably because they only ever asked senior technologists. The men and women that had been working in the inventions department of District 3 for years and who all had families to consider. It wasn't just that they were reluctant to leave them behind – the invitation was only extended to the potential engineer – but also the fear that one of their own children might be Reaped. It would have been hard enough for them to imagine harming kids from 3, but being responsible for the death of one of their own was unthinkable. Which was why no one ever accompanied the engineers on their hovercraft back to the Capitol.

At least, Emory hadn't heard of anyone going since she'd been alive. This was her first year seeing the sentinels of the Games in person though. She had only graduated from school the past year, but her exceptional class marks and aptitude for anything technological had lead to her being accepted to the inventions division immediately afterward. At nineteen, she was the youngest one there and had initially been subjected to a fair amount of disbelieving looks and murmured skepticism from her coworkers, but they stopped soon enough. She supposed it was because of the capabilities she had demonstrated but also because she was quiet and serious, not at all the juvenile girl they had expected her to be. It surprised her that they even associated youth with immaturity anymore though; children here had to grow up so fast.

She was startled out of her reverie when she heard the approaching footsteps of the engineers, and looked up from the sketch she had been working on. A team of three people were staring down at her, lead by a woman with a perfectly trimmed gray bob and a very severe pair of eyebrows. Her companions were two lanky men, both with short black hair and aloof, almost bored expressions. They were all impeccably groomed, but otherwise quite normal looking. Emory had noticed that engineers were some of the only Capitol citizens that didn't alter their appearances in some garish way or dress in whatever ridiculously clothing was fashionable at the moment. They were practical and outwardly plain, preferring to impart their own personal flair into their work. Emory looked up at them expectantly, then realized she should stand up lest they think her impolite.

"Your name?" the woman asked.

"Emory Alderman." Emory replied, now unsure of what to do with her hands.

She had been so used to holding a pencil for the past hour that she was now at an utter loss and uncomfortably clasped them in front of herself before deciding it looked ridiculous and letting them fall to her sides. This didn't look very good either, but if she continued to rearrange herself, they would certainly notice and probably move on to the next potential candidate without asking her a second question. No one is ever impressed by fidgeting. The woman entered her name into a tablet and scanned the information presented quickly, with no perceptible change in her features.

"You're only nineteen?" the woman questioned, her indifferent tone making it sound more like a statement.

"Yes." Emory answered.

"Quite impressive for you to be working in this division so soon after graduating," the woman remarked.

"Thank you. I was lucky to be accepted." Emory said, hoping it didn't sound like false modesty.

"I doubt luck had much to do with it. I see here that you were the one who made the prototype for those micro-cameras we commissioned last year?" the woman asked.

Emory nodded.

"Excellent work. They held up marvelously in the arena, as I'm sure you saw for yourself?" the woman persisted.

"I'm sure my design was much improved upon after I passed it along to more capable hands, but I'm glad they worked well," Emory said carefully.

The woman smiled slightly, although it looked as though she her practice with the expression was extremely limited.

"Look, I'm sure you already know our reason for visiting this facility. Though we are of course interested in seeing what new contraptions District 3 has been working on, we are primarily here to see if, by any chance, one of you might be interested in joining us this year. We've gone back to the Capitol empty handed for the past 20 years yet President Snow still requests that we make this annual pilgrimage. He's making a very generous offer. Your room and board will be paid for, you will be compensated for every hour spent working on the Games, and you will get to both develop and show off your talents. This could lead to even more opportunities for you, Emory. Are you interested?" the woman asked.

Emory hesitated. If she said yes, and went with them, she would be condoning the Games and the actions of the Capitol. It would make her an instant pariah in any district, someone as detestable as a Peacekeeper, or worse. But if she said no, and stayed in District 3, she would regret it almost as much. There was nothing for her here. She had lost her parents the year before in a factory fire and had no siblings or any close family to take care of or to take care of her. She hadn't made very many friends in school, choosing to focus instead on her studies and her inventions, and the few friendships she had retained weren't particularly close. If she went with the engineers, she might not ever be able to return but then again, there was nothing to return to.

She didn't want to be part of the Games any more than the children who were Reaped each year did, but she did desperately want to put her talents to a more fascinating use than sketching designs for new Peacekeeper weapons or creating prototypes for shock proof micro-cameras. So many of the devices she worked on already helped to shape the Games that becoming an engineer wasn't really that drastic of a change. She was rationalizing an immoral decision and she knew it, but it didn't matter. Her mind was already made up.

"Are you in or not?" one of the male engineers asked, his bored expression showing slight impatience.

"I'm in." Emory said, wishing she sounded a little more sure of herself.

A brief look of surprise flashed across the woman's face. Then she smiled again and said,

"Then welcome to Engineering team 74."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **first off, thank you so much to everyone who read the first chapter, it means a lot to me! I'm glad you guys like the story so far and I think you will like this chapter even more because guess what, it's time for Seneca :3 Sorry these first two chapters haven't been very exciting; they are really just intros for the characters. But things will start happening soon, I promise. I hope you all enjoy it and if you would like to tell me what you think, that would be great!

Tomorrow Means Nothing: Chapter Two

Seneca Crane leaned back in his chair and smiled slightly, looking around at his small yet tastefully furnished office with satisfaction. All of his belongings were meticulously organized and his desk was in a state so pristine he almost didn't want to use it for fear of messing it up. But use it he would, because today was his first official day as Head Gamemaker and he couldn't wait to get started. Well, on second thought, he supposed he could wait until after he had some coffee to really begin. No sense in skipping an essential part of his morning routine just to start working when there wasn't much to do yet anyways.

He pressed one of the many buttons located on the surface of the desk and a moment later a tall, dark-haired Avox boy appeared in the office doorway.

"A coffee, please," Seneca requested, still marveling at the fact that he had someone whose job was solely to be at his beck and call.

The Avox boy nodded and left the room, emerging a minute later with a steaming mug, which he carefully placed on the desk. Seneca nodded his thanks and the Avox left him once more. Picking up the mug, Seneca took a tentative sip of the hot beverage and grimaced slightly. He was unaccustomed to drinking his coffee plain; he much preferred it with a splash of orange-blossom creamer or at least a spoonful or two of sugar. But he felt silly requesting either – none of the men he knew added such things to their coffee – so he continued to drink it as it was, though it tasted vile.

Setting the cup back down, he glanced down at the tablet on his desk. Since it was his first day of work, there were very few items on his to-do list. He needed to arrange meetings with the other Gamemakers to discuss plans for the arena (for which he had none, _yet_) and think of a few things he definitely wanted to include in this year's Games. He also needed to review the bios of this year's crop of engineers and editors, something Gamemakers didn't necessarily have to do but he had a particular interest in since he had started his Hunger Games career as an editor himself.

The Games had truly been a part of Seneca's life since he was born. His father had been one of the Gamemakers and his mother was an actress on several of the drama-heavy television programs popular in the Capital, so he had become interested in the technical execution of productions and the flair for showmanship essential to putting on a good show. He had done very well in school, earning grades high enough for virtually any career to be an option but had chosen to begin working in the control room of the Games at 18 as an editor, responsible for finding the action occurring in the arena and cutting it together in real time. It had started off as something challenging and very high intensity but he had quickly outgrown it and been transferred to the engineering team where his responsibilities grew to not only helping to create the arena and the obstacles it contained but also controlling the variables of the Game once it began. He loved it; the thrill of being able to create catastrophes and just as quickly end them simply by moving his fingers over a console was indescribable. But after eleven years of working in the control room, President Snow had promoted him to Head Gamemaker, and he was incredibly grateful to finally have the opportunity to put all the ideas he had thought up for the Games into action.

He took another sip of the disgustingly bitter coffee, wishing again he had something with which to sweeten it, and found the list of engineer bios on his tablet. A majority of the names he recognized from working with them in years past and then there were a few new recruits, fresh-faced graduates from the Capitol. And then there was one name that Seneca had never heard before and that didn't sound very much like the name of a Capitol citizen: Emory Alderman. He clicked on it and was taken to a detailed version of her bio, complete with a photograph. Ignoring it, he scrolled down to see where exactly she had come from. District 3? He didn't think they'd ever had an engineer from outside the Capitol, and certainly none as young as her. She was nineteen, the same age he had been when he switched to engineering from editing. It was impressive, but he had absolutely no idea what she was doing working in the control room.

It was a well-known fact that every year several of the engineers took a day trip to District 3 to see if any of their brightest citizens were interested in working on the Games. Seneca had even gone several times, but remembered being greeted with barely veiled hostility from the few people he had spoken to. Most of them had seemed fairly angry by the suggestion that any of them would like to join the engineers of the Games and had blatantly refused any offers made. Honestly, Seneca had wondered why they had even bothered but it was on President Snow's orders so the annual visit was mandatory even if never yielded any results. He wasn't sure why Snow insisted on it but he supposed it was some strange way of reaching out to his vassals. Either way, he never would have thought that any of them would have taken him up on his offer.

Seneca scrolled back up to the photograph of the young woman from District 3, gazing it at for slightly longer than was necessary. She wasn't breathtakingly beautiful, but she was pretty in a plain sort of way. Her unadorned appearance was a stark contrast to the embellished and sometimes quite garish Capitol women he had grown up alongside. But there was something captivating about the combination of dark hair and hazel eyes, her countenance guarded yet expressive at the same time. Suddenly realizing how ridiculously he was behaving, Seneca closed the bio and set the tablet back on his desk with more force than was needed.

He then surreptitiously added another item to his to-do list: arrange meeting with this year's engineers. Although he was really only interested in meeting one of them.


End file.
